Academy of Deduction
by Holmes and Not Quite Watson
Summary: John, the new kid, meets Jim and Sherlock at Primary school. Years later, at a boarding school in Grimpen, things start to get interesting.
1. Prequel

Prequel

John fidgeted nervously, and looked up at Harry. The door to his new classroom seemed impossibly large, and he could hear the voices of the other children inside. Harry had hung up his jacket for him on the shiny new peg with his name- at least Harry said it was his name- written on a piece of paper stuck below it.

He wondered if the other children could read already. They had been at school for a year and a term now, but this would be his first day. Harry said it was his first of a million days. That sounded bad.

"- And try not to fight with the other kids, John." Harry advised. She looked bored, and was bobbing on the balls of her feet, eager to get away.

"Hey, Harry!" A voice called from the other end of the corridor. John looked up to see who it was, and saw Harry's best friend Clara waving enthusiastically.  
"Good luck John!" With that she gave him a gentle shove towards the door. John tripped on the hem of his new- and far too long- school trousers, and stumbled into the door, which swung open at his touch.

He landed in an untidy heap on the floor. He lifted his head to find a classroom full of kids staring at him in silence. John got to his feet, ears burning, and stared at his shiny new shoes in quiet terror.

There was a slight rocking sound from the other side of the room, and everyone's heads turned to see who was making it. A tall, thin boy with curly dark hair was perched precariously on a chair, wobbling as he tried to balance a lemon on top of the whiteboard.

John temporarily forgot his embarrassment as he stared in confusion at his new classmate.

"The Lemon is in play." John jumped as an unfamiliar voice spoke from beside him. He turned to see a boy, about the same height as him, with a smile on his face. "It's a game we play," he continued, pointing at the lemon, which was now sitting on top of the board. "We try to place the lemon in plain sight without Mr Lindenberg noticing it." John nodded uncertainly and the boy carried on. "We were on a streak before the break- almost three weeks without him seeing it. It's a school record." He boasted. He held out his hand. "Jim Moriarty. Hi!"

John smiled, and shook Jim's hand hesitantly. "John Watson." He was a little taken aback by his seeming acceptance.

John glanced around at the other children, who were now chatting amongst themselves. They seemed to have forgotten all about him. He saw that the curly haired boy who had placed the lemon on top of the board had retreated into the corner. He was _reading, _John stared in amazement at book- tiny writing he couldn't even hope to understand.

"That's Sherlock." Jim said helpfully. "He doesn't have friends." John frowned, not lifting his gaze from the book in Sherlock's hands.

"Why not?" he asked distractedly. Jim shrugged.

"He's a little… different." *****

Of course the teacher chose this moment to enter and all the conversations stuttered gently to a close. All the kids took their seats, leaving John standing awkwardly at the front of the room. He scanned the desks for Jim, who nodded to the seat beside him. John hurried over and slid gratefully into the offered chair.

John breathed a sigh of relief. He looked towards the teacher and noticed Sherlock sitting alone at the table in front of him, still clutching his book. John was about to mention this to Jim when Mr. Lindenberg spoke.

"Is John Watson here?" he asked, peering at the rows of students, trying to see an unfamiliar face. John raised his hand uncertainly, feeling the stares of the entire classroom focused on him- other than Sherlock, who was staring intently at the wall as if it had sprouted legs.

The teacher smiled welcomingly. "Any relation to Harry Watson?" he asked in interest. John nodded. "Oh god, not another one." Mr. Lindenberg muttered under his breath. "Well, good to have you all back." He said briskly, making his way to the whiteboard as he spoke. "Lets see what we remember about spelling."

John nudged Jim. Having got his attention, John whispered quietly. "I can't read yet." John confided. Jim raised his eyebrows, but then his face dimpled and he smiled.

"Lets see what I can do."

John followed Jim out the door as the bell rang for break.

"So what do you think of Bergie?" Jim asked.

"Who?" John frowned, trying to remember a 'Bergie' in Jim's brief introduction to his new classmates.

"Mr. Lindenberg." Jim clarified. "Everyone calls him Bergie."

"Uh. He seems nice?" John grabbed his coat and they stepped outside. There was a cool breeze blowing, so John shrugged his coat on over his fluffy cream jumper.

There was a shout and John spun round to see a crowd of people gathered around two figures. John ran over and shoved through the crowd in time to see a stocky, sandy-haired boy knock Sherlock to the ground.

Sherlock started to struggle to his feet, but the boy- who John now recognised as Sebastian- lunged forward and kicked Sherlock. He crumpled back to the ground, letting out a quiet yelp.

John rushed forward and placed himself firmly between the two boys. John glared defiantly at Sebastian, daring him to continue the attack. Sebastian blinked at him, astonished, as if no one had ever stood up for Sherlock before. Sebastian looked over his shoulder at the crowd that had gathered, all with looks of equal astonishment on their faces. He shrugged and turned around, disappearing into the crowd, which dispersed, leaving John standing protectively over Sherlock.

"You alright?" John questioned, reaching his hand out concernedly. Before Sherlock could reply, Jim appeared at his side holding a dark blue scarf. He handed it over wordlessly and Sherlock grabbed it, wrapping it hurriedly round his neck. Sherlock ignored John's outstretched hand and got to his feet in one fluid movement. He started to walk away.

"What, aren't you going to say thank you?" John called after him.

"What for?" he turned back to face them, frowning.

"For helping you!" Jim chipped in.

"I don't need help."

"You sure about that?" John asked pointedly, gesturing to the grazed knees and split lip that Sherlock now supported.

"From a boy who can't even stop his own father beating him and one who's clearly only standing up for me to stay in my big brother's good books?"

John reeled, hurt. "How did you know about my dad?"

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply, disdain obvious. Jim grabbed John's shoulder and spun him round. "He's not worth it, John." Jim said pointedly, steering John firmly away from Sherlock.

John could feel his ears burning and the urge to turn around and punch Sherlock's knowing smirk right off his face. Jim led John to the swing set and sat him down, taking the other swing for himself.

John scuffed his shoes into the woodchips, avoiding eye contact.

"If it's any consolation," Jim began, "he does that to everyone."

John ground his toe into the chips, swinging slowly. He stared at his feet, sighing. There was a pause, and then John spoke hesitantly.

"What did Sherlock mean? About you trying to impress his brother?"

"You mustn't believe everything he says." Jim smiled. "What he said about your dad wasn't true, was it?"

John was silent, and Jim looked up, concerned. "Just promise me." John said after a moment, voice quiet. "Just promise me you won't ever hurt me like that. Please."

Jim's eyes widened in earnest. "Promise."


	2. Chapter One: Year Seven

Chapter One

The car pulled into the long driveway, tires crunching on the gravel. Harry yanked sharply on the steering wheel and the car slid into a parking space, causing John to temporarily lose control of his suitcase, which promptly fell on him.

"Here we are then!" Harry said, pulling the keys out of the ignition and peering worriedly round the suitcase at John. "You alright?"

John nodded distractedly, shoving the suitcase into the space beside him. He glanced out the window at the towering grey building. He heard his sister slam the car door, but continued to gaze at the school that was to be his home away from home for the next seven years.

Harry threw open the boot. "Out you get." She called. John attempted a brave smile and climbed out. "Don't forget your rugby kit." Harry reminded him, sliding back into the driver's seat.

"Give mum my love." John shouted, dragging his trunk out of the boot. "I'll phone you later." John promised, picking up his kit in one hand and his case in the other. He stepped out of the way and Harry reversed out, giving him a small wave as she disappeared down the driveway.

John jumped as he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Need some help?" John turned round. An older boy with light brown hair and a friendly smile was gesturing to John's trunk.

"Thanks." John mumbled shyly, catching sight of the sports captain's badge pinned proudly to the boy's collar.

"I'm Greg." He said conversationally, bending down and picking up one end of the trunk.

"John Watson." John smiled, shifting his rugby kit to the other arm, and grabbing the other end of his trunk.

They dumped the trunk by a pile of others with a sigh of relief. "Lestrade!" John looked up to see a tall boy striding towards them. Greg straightened quickly, grinning self-consciously at the approaching figure.

"Professor Richardson is looking for you." He said, peering absent-mindedly down at a slip of paper in his hand.

"_Professor Richardson?" _Greg frowned incredulously. "Oh, you mean Doug!"

"Yes," the older boy replied irritably. He tapped his prefect's badge importantly. "I'm a prefect now, Lestrade. No time for nicknames." Greg raised an eyebrow amusedly, nodded at John and walked off in the opposite direction.

"Mycroft Holmes." The prefect said, stretching a hand out for John to shake. John shook it resolutely.

"John."

Mycroft scanned the sheet he was holding. "Watson?" he questioned distractedly. John nodded. "You're in room… 221. First floor, second door on the right." Mycroft pointed up the stairs, then, glancing back at his sheet, grimaced.

"Dear god, you're rooming with my little brother. Do keep an eye on him. Best of luck." John's face took on a confused look.

"Hang on," John said, comprehension dawning. "Holmes. _Holmes. _I'm not sharing with _Sherlock, _am I?" Then John realized he was talking to Sherlock's brother and looked up apologetically. "Sorry." He muttered.

Mycroft met his eyes with an equally apologetic look. "I'm afraid so. My deepest condolences."

John grabbed his case and rugby kit, half smiling, and made his way up the steps in search of room 221.

_A gust of wind tugged at the sail of the boat, and the boat rocked precariously. Salty sea spray stung John's eyes as he squinted out across the waves, searching desperately for the half-drowned figure. The boat tipped and John cried out, shying away from the wave that rushed over the edge of the boat. One wave could send him into the cold depths forever. And yet, and yet he needed- no, he had to- save his dad._

_There was a cry from behind John, and he spun around in panic, nearly losing his footing on the slippery wooden floor. Two hands clutched the side of the boat, knuckles white. John peered over the side of the boat and saw his father's face below._

_"Help me John!" he screamed, words swept away by the wind. John tried to step forwards, but he couldn't seem to move his feet. His stomach churned with the waves. He seemed so powerless and small in comparison to the waves which threatened to sweep him away. Could do so and drown him in seconds, just like they had his mother._

_His father screamed again, but this time his plea never reached John's ears. John's mind cleared and he stumbled forward, falling to his knees by the side of the boat. Just as he reached to pull his father out of the churning waters and to safety, his hands lost grip and slipped away. John screamed as his father slipped under the waves, leaving him alone._

_Leaning as far as he dared, John looked over the side of the boat, trying to glimpse his father before he disappeared. Instead he saw his own face, pale and lifeless, drifting under the surface._

He jerked awake with a gasp. Moonlight lit up the dorm room with a sort of subtle mystery. A thin figure with black hair was curled up on the window sill, staring absentmindedly at the night sky. He looked up and met John's gaze.

John tried to control his breathing, though his heart was still pounding. Sherlock- for it had to be him- broke their eye contact to look out of the window again.

"Sentiment." the boy muttered. "It's our downfall. Emotions. Dull."

"I wasn't having a nightmare," John protested weakly. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"It's okay." There was a pause. "I get them too."John looked up in surprise. The Sherlock he remembered _never_ showed weakness, and he certainly didn't console people.

"Really?" John asked, a little louder than he meant to. One of the other boys stirred in his sleep and rolled over. John shifted nervously. He didn't want to go back to sleep for fear that his nightmares would return.

"I find a stroll in the cool night air helps clear my mind. Not that I sleep any more." Sherlock said as if John hadn't spoken, getting to his feet and shrugging on a long blue dressing gown. "Care to accompany me?"

"Uh… Alright, then." John whispered hesitantly, swinging his legs out of bed. He tucked his feet into his slippers and stood up. Glancing at Sherlock's dressing gown, John grabbed his wooly jumper and pulled it on.

John followed Sherlock out of their dorm and down the stairs. He struggled to keep up with his roommate's long strides as he made his way down the corridor.

He caught up to Sherlock as he began to crunch along the gravel path that lead to the school's rugby pitch. John felt slightly awkward in the silence between them. He wanted to ask where they were going, but Sherlock looked so lost in thought that he didn't want to interrupt.

Abruptly Sherlock grabbed John's hand and tugged him off the path and up the hill. At the top of the hill Sherlock paused, then sat down.

John watched Sherlock for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Shall we head back then?" he asked quietly, fidgeting with his jumper. Sherlock showed no sign of having heard him. John repeated his question, slightly louder this time. Sherlock only leant forward and steepled his fingers under his chin, still not acknowledging John's words.

"Right then." John sighed, and began to make his way back towards the school and the comfort of his bed. At the bottom of the hill he paused and looked back.

"You coming?" he called. Sherlock didn't respond. With a groan John made his way back up the hill and yanked Sherlock to his feet. "Bed." he said firmly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow questioningly, but didn't resist. John pulled Sherlock's arm over his shoulders and began to lead him back to the dorms.

"It's a good job there's nobody watching," John grumbled. "People might talk."

"People do little else." Sherlock smirked, catching John's eye. John chuckled quietly and nodded his agreement.

John heaved Sherlock onto his bed then collapsed into his own. The clock on the wall told him it was just after three in the morning. Better try to get some sleep now, he thought. It was unlikely he'd get enough to be ready for lessons, but it was worth a try.

By the time John rolled out of bed the next morning Sherlock had gone. He looked out for him at breakfast, and eventually spotted him sitting at the end of a crowded table. John sat down opposite him and proceeded to eat his breakfast. Sherlock didn't seem to be eating anything.

"First day then!" a boysaid gamely, sliding into the seat next to John. "How exciting!"

Sherlock was silent, staring into space again. John swallowed quickly. "Can't wait." he said, swigging his juice.

"I'm Sebastian." he grinned.

"John."

Sherlock seemed to be pointedly ignoring Sebastian. John kicked him under the table, but he merely glared, then returned to his thoughts. "This is Sherlock." he said hastily. Sebastian's smile cooled somewhat.

"Sherlock Holmes." he said coldly, turning away from John and Sherlock.

John closed his eyes. He'd almost forgotten the effect Sherlock had on other people. The _deductions. _He remembered how long it had taken him to forgive Sherlock for how he'd hurt him. How many people had Sherlock pissed off already?

"Turn to page 394." The teacher said briskly, handing out the last of the textbooks. The class scrambled for their pens and opened their books to a diagram of the skeleton. Half way through answering the first question John noticed Sherlock hadn't moved.

"Aren't you going to do the work?" John frowned.

"Boring." Sherlock declared.

The teacher turned her head, clearly having heard Sherlock's remark. "Mr Holmes." she said, making her way over to their desk. "What seems to be the problem?"

"I learnt the names of every bone in the human body when I was three." Sherlock said impatiently. "Got bored in the holidays. Mycroft was ignoring me."

"Every bone?" The teacher narrowed her eyes. "Alright then. What's the name of the smallest bone in the body?"

"The States Articulates- commonly known as the stirrup bone." Sherlock said, sounding as if he'd said it a million times before. "The largest is the femur, which is located in the upper leg."

The teacher looked vaguely surprised, but she'd clearly encountered the Holmes boys before. She raised an eyebrow. "Well Mr. Holmes, I still expect you to partake in our class as an active participant."

John was exhausted. If it weren't sufficient trouble to have to look after Sherlock _bloody _Holmes all day, he actually had to cope with homework. He shoved open the door to his dorm and found Mycroft perched uncomfortably on the edge of the bed.

"Mr Watson." Mycroft gave a businesslike smile.

"Mycroft? What are you doing in here?"

"I came to have a word with you. It's about Sherlock."

John sighed deeply. If Sherlock had gone and got himself into trouble again he was just about ready to give up. He'd probably played a prank on Mycroft or something- why else would he have come to John rather than the Headmaster?

"What's he done now?" John asked, only half expecting a straight answer.

"That's what I came to ask you." Mycroft said. John frowned slightly, not quite understanding what the he meant.

"I'm sorry?"

"I haven't heard anything of him for nearly a week."

"Well… No. He hasn't- I've been t_rying_ to keep him out of trouble. Why do you care?"

"I worry about him. Constantly." Mycroft admitted, a slightly pained expression on his face. John couldn't help but smile slightly. Mycroft stood up, straightening his tie.

"I'd be very grateful if you could keep me updated on Sherlock's activities." he continued, looking down on John, who was suddenly very conscious of the age and power difference between them. John frowned.

"You mean spy on him." John stated, looking Mycroft in the eye. He returned the gaze slightly sheepishly.

"If you wish to put it that way, yes." John folded his arms and Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Nothing indiscreet." he assured John.

"No."

"Could you at least consider-"

"I am not going to spy on your brother." John said flatly. "He's my best friend." Mycroft looked astonished.

"You're very loyal, very quickly." one corner of Mycroft's mouth twitched up in a mocking smile and one eyebrow rose accusingly.

The door creaked open behind John. He turned to see who had entered and was pleasantly surprised to recognize Greg Lestrade. He went slightly pink when he spotted Mycroft and went to shut the door.

"Come in Gregory." Mycroft called as the door clicked shut. Greg came back in awkwardly. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again. "What is it?" Mycroft asked gently.

"I need to talk to John." Greg announced, "You're late for rugby try-outs." he continued, pulling a hand through his hair. "You better get down there before I kick you out prematurely." He smiled to soften the blow, then turned to Mycroft.

"Douggie's looking for you." Mycroft looked confused.

"Why did he send you?" he asked, frowning.

"He said if you'd listen to anyone, it'd be me." Greg said admitted quietly, not looking Mycroft in the eye. John smirked. He'd met Professor Richardson- or Douggie- and he was _very _good at matchmaking.

Mycroft just raised an eyebrow. "Well what does he want?" Mycroft didn't get it, John realized incredulously.

"He wants to meet you at lunch- something about a Mr. Spair Van Kees?" Greg fidgeted. John fought a smirk.

"Fine." Mycroft sighed, and stormed out of the room. "See you after lunch,Greg."

The moment the door closed, John's eyebrows shot up. "_Well." _he grinned. Greg went red. "You and Mycroft?" Greg shook his head, distractedly pinning and repinning his sports captain's badge.

"No."

John laughed. "But you'd like it to be." It wasn't a question, but Greg still nodded, resigned.

"He doesn't see it."

"No." John mused. "You'll have to do something about that."

Greg suddenly shook his head, realising that he'd just admitted his feeling for Mycroft to a year seven student.

"You. Rugby tryouts. Now." Greg's voice was suddenly severe, but John could tell it was just to cover the look of embarrassment on his face. He left the room quickly. John grabbed his rugby kit and followed behind, smiling to himself.

"Try again, Herr Watson." Professor Shipwright said, tapping the whiteboard exasperatedly. "Conjugation of the verb 'sein', present tense."

"Uhh… Sein. Seinem. Umm. Seid?"

The Professor groaned. "No. Well perhaps Herr Holmes can shed some light on the subject?"

"Bin, bist, Ist, sind, seid, sind." Sherlock recited monotonously, without looking up from his desk.

"Oh. Well done." Professor Shipwright said, looking as if his faith in the year sevens' german skills had been restored.

At that moment the door flew open and crashed into the wall with a bang. The class' heads turned to see a sopping wet and rather furious Prefect standing in the doorframe.

**"**Sherlock Holmes." Mycroft said dangerously, "A word. Now. And bring Mr. Watson."

John got out of his seat and followed Sherlock out of the room, amused to see that a single lock of hair had escaped from Mycroft's usually rigid style. Greg stood behind him, arms folded, unsuccessfully trying to fight off a grin.

Mycroft led them down a hallway, silently fuming, and into an empty classroom. Lestrade followed them in and closed the door behind them. "Have a seat." Mycroft looked at John expectantly.

"I don't want to sit down."

Mycroft shrugged and turned to Sherlock. "Judging by your smirk, I assume you know why you're here."

"No actually." Sherlock said, perfectly blasé. "That was more to do with the fact that you're soaking wet."

"Don't lie to me, Sherlock." Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't suit."

"How could it have been me?" Sherlock demanded. "I was in German."

"Sherlock." Lestrade groaned.

"Nonetheless." Mycroft continued disapprovingly. "It's of national importance."

"Oh, stop being such a drama queen, Mycroft." Sherlock sighed, plucking irritatedly at a bit of fluff on his school blazer.

"Don't make me send you to see the school counselor, you know how it upsets Mummy."

"It wasn't me that upset her, Mycroft." Sherlock spat. John cleared his throat loudly and both the brothers looked his way. Greg shuffled awkwardly by the door, suddenly very interested in the wall by John's head.

"If I'm not interrupting a family matter," John said sarcastically, "I don't see how he could have done it." John gestured to Mycroft's sodden form. "I was with him all through German."

"You'd be surprised." Mycroft leaned back against the teacher's desk, resting on one hand. "He has something of a network in the school."

"I'm telling you, Mycroft," Sherlock insisted, "I had nothing to do with this."

Mycroft gave a disbelieving snort and a stern glare, slicking back his hair with his spare hand. He put his hand on the doorknob before turning to face the boys again. "Well in that case, _Sherlock, _I'm sure Counselor Pitt-Goddard will be delighted to see you and Mr. Watson. Cheerio!" And with that he gave them a forced smile and stepped out into the corridor. Lestrade went out after him, pausing only to whisper thanks.

The door clicked shut behind him. Sherlock's smirk became a full blown grin. "I rather think Greg likes what the water did to Mycroft's suit."

John spun around to face Sherlock. "Sherlock. Why the HELL did you do that?"

"I thought it was rather genius myself. Untraceable." Sherlock grinned, then mumbled. "Mycroft is annoyingly perceptive."

"And you didn't think to tell me?" John seethed. "Oh I remember. 'I'm Sherlock Holmes and I always work alone because no one else can compete with my MASSIVE INTELLECT."

'You've got to admit it _was _funny." Sherlock smiled, unperturbed by John's rage. "I doubted you'd want to get involved."

"So it was you?"

"Of course it me!" Sherlock looked insulted. "But, like I said, I didn't think you'd want to be part of this." John raised an eyebrow. Sherlock was right, he'd have said no, but still.

"Well I am now." John kicked a chair, annoyed.

"I believe we've got a counseling session to attend." Sherlock said briskly, ignoring John's anger. He disappeared out of the room. John bit back several choice expletives before taking a deep breath and running after him.

"Mr. Pitt-Goddard." Sherlock said as he swept into the counselor's office.

"Which one of you is Sherlock Holmes?" The counselor's eyes flicked between John and Sherlock, a mischievous grin on his face.

"That would be me."

"Nice work!" The Counselor held his hand up for a high five.

Sherlock ignored the gesture. "What do you mean?"

"Well I mean- well done! Taking him down a notch. I've been wanting to do that for _ages_."

Sherlock blinked.

John butted in. "You wanted to throw a senior prefect in the swimming pool?"

"Among other things." Mr. Pitt-Goddard's eyes glinted and he smiled devilishly. "Tea?"

"So you're not going to make us stay for a counseling session?" John questioned hopefully.

"Well, you can hang around here if you want. Otherwise I'm out of a job. Don't get many students down here, actually. Apparently not many people are brave enough to- what did you say? Throw him in the swimming pool? I thought he looked a bit bedraggled."

"Well technically, we didn't-"

"Sherlock didn't." interrupted John.

"Well technically _I _didn't," Sherlock emphasised, then continued " _I _didn't throw him in the pool."

"Details, details." Pitt-Goddard waved Sherlock's protests away. "So are you staying or not?" He waved a couple of teabags at them.

John glanced round to Sherlock for approval, but the other boy was busy surveying the contents of the bookcase. "Uhhh… Yeah." He grinned. "Rather this than German or Physics."

The Counselor winked conspiratorially. "Right you are. So, how did you do it?"

John drained the last of his tea and stood up, wiping his lips. "We'd better be off. Sherlock?"

Sherlock nodded purposefully, setting down his mug as well. "Yes. We've got part two of the plan to attend to."

"You boys…" Mr. Pitt-Goddard clapped Sherlock on the back heartily as they made their way towards the door. Sherlock flinched visibly and glared at the Counselor, who didn't seem to notice and waved them out the door.

"See you soon!" Pitt-Goddard called, and John turned back and waved half heartedly. The door closed, and they began to make their way back down the corridor.

"He was strangely tolerable." Sherlock broke the silence. "We might have to go back and see him again."

"No, Sherlock, this isn't going to happen again."

"Well next time I won't get caught, of course-" He stopped as John grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Sherlock, I mean it. There isn't going to be a next time."

"Yes, but like I said, Mycroft wouldn't know it was us-"

"Us?"

"Yes," Sherlock said impatiently. "You were involved to some extent."

"What?"

"You covered for me this morning." Sherlock reminded him.

"When you were trying to blend in with the seniors to get into the restricted section of the library."

"Did I say that?" Sherlock frowned slightly as if trying to recall their conversation this morning.

"Yes, Sherlock, you did. God, I wouldn't have helped you if I'd known you were going to try and do something so stupid."

"Exactly. I couldn't have done it without you."

John let out an exasperated breath, releasing Sherlock's shoulders and giving him a slight push. "Just don't get me involved in one of your schemes again without telling me. It's not what friends do."

"Friends?" Sherlock blinked a couple of times, sounding it out as though the word was unfamiliar.

"Yes. You're my friend, Sherlock."

"Oh- oh."

"What is it?" The anger had left John's face and he watched Sherlock in concern. His friend looked lost and confused, an unfamiliar expression on his usually arrogant face

"It's just- well, I've never had a friend before."

"Never? But you must have had friends when you were smaller. You know, kids that you like, kids that you know…" He trailed off when Sherlock failed to nod along. "No one?" he asked weakly. Sherlock looked away, shaking his head.

"Well friends," he nudged Sherlock "don't involve each other in schemes without telling each other. Just promise me you won't do it again."

"Yes, yes." Sherlock said absentmindedly, looking lost in thought.

**There was a lot of new information to file away.**


End file.
